


The Fearsome Case of the Candy Cane Swap

by sapphoatsunset



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, NCIS, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Americanisms, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphoatsunset/pseuds/sapphoatsunset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ain't no rest for the wicked~"<br/>And the righteous pick up the pieces</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fearsome Case of the Candy Cane Swap

**Author's Note:**

> The was written for [firewhiskeyfic](http://firewhiskeyfic.livejournal.com) for the December 2012 round.
> 
> Prompts:  
> # Solstice  
> # Apocalypse  
> # Candy Canes  
> # New Year's
> 
> I don't think I was as drunk as everyone else because I'm a slow drinker (next time I'll do shots!). But, I was tipsy and exhausted, which is like being drunk, and since I'm OCD, it ended up being remarkably coherent.
> 
> Finally, this has been edited slightly since it was originally posted [here](http://http://firewhiskeyfic.livejournal.com/61013.html).

“Harry. Mate. Wake up.” Ron jabbed Harry in the side, catching him drooling on his desk after a shift was over at the MLE. “Mate. You’re gonna be fucking mad, but, wake up. Shit hit the fucking fan. I think that’s what the damn Americans say. I think that’s what Leroy—or was it Jethro?—said when he called over. It’s happening there too.” Ron’s voice was just this side of frantic. _You’d think it was the apocalypse or something._

“Shit, Ron. Can’t I get any sleep? At all?” Harry cast a tempus and then groaned. It was worse than he’d thought. He’d only been asleep for 30 minutes tops and he was going to have a tit if Ron didn’t start explaining what the calamity was. “Wait. America? What the fuck?”

“Yes. You’re getting it. Jeez. ‘Mione always said I was slow.”

“Well, it helps if you tell me what the arse is wrong that you have to wake me back up after a 40 hour shift chasing after cheeky buggers that ended up being pranksters and not neo-Death Eaters. Fuck, is this what my life has come to?” Harry groused, irritated and rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t even been asleep long enough to have crusties form. _You knew you were desperately in need of sleep when you felt nostalgic about gunk at the corner of your eyes._

“Don’t be an arse.” Ron retorted. “You’d have a better life if you’d just marry Gin. You know, Mum’s been asking about you.”

“Bugger off. You know that’s not happening. Gay. Me. Simple enough? And Gin is dating Oliver and quite happy.” Harry finished with a snort. He didn’t know why Ron had such a problem understanding reality. Dreadful condition for an Auror. “Just tell me what the hell is wrong so I can sleep!”

“Fine.” Ron glared. They both needed sleep. Harry wasn’t the only one up all night and then some, and before that, ‘Mione had been nagging, so there’d been no rest at home either. _Jesus. Women. You’d think their mission was to kill a man daily, the way they went screeching on._ He felt just a bit bitter that Harry was still free as a kite. “Read this.” Thrusting the missive in Harry’s hand, he walked to the break room, grabbing a cup of stale coffee and a biscuit. It was equally stale, but his stomach wasn’t very discerning. And ‘Mione would never know. So what if he was rounder than he had been in school?

> Attn:
> 
> Incidents present in London, Stratfordshire, Essex, North Hampton (USA), Miami (USA), Liverpool, West Sussex, and Dorset. Incident description consistent. _Serial activity? Coordinated mass activity? Copy cats?_
> 
> All victims report personally seeing their children to bed before retiring themselves. Children are not in their beds come morning. A candy cane is left in their place. _Fucking bastards. Messing with children. They know it’s the easiest way to make us all hurt!_
> 
> No sign of forced entry. No residual dark magic. Nothing out of the ordinary.
> 
> Case count: 25.

“Are they sure the children didn’t get some idea to prank their parents?” Harry asked with an eye roll. He was tired and had no patience for pranks at the moment. All he wanted was his bed. _Was that too much to ask for?_

“Did you not see my note about finite not working?”

“No. There wasn’t a note like that. You need caffeine, mate.”

Ron sighed and pointed at the page.

“Oh. That’s what that stray squiggle was. Ah. Not important.” Harry concluded. “So, why us?”

“Harry, they’re all muggle-borns or half-bloods.”

“Bugger.”

“Exactly.”

“Now what? Been to the scene yet?” Harry asked, grabbing coffee as well. He really needed an IV of the sludge—maybe a pure chemical supplement. Not that Ron would understand the terminology, so he didn’t even try.

“Not yet. Waiting for your lazy arse. Drink that and let’s go.”

“Damn. Bossy, mate.” Harry grinned. Here was a reason to be friends with the red-headed fool—the flush of irritation spreading across his cheeks moments before his bark of a laugh exploded.

“Right. Well, if you’d care to grace us, Chosen One, we’ll get to it.”

Harry just chuckled and stood up, rolling his neck and stretching his shoulders. “Right. Let’s go.”

# # #

“Detective Inspector,” the name was said with a sneer. “If you call the world’s only consulting detective, then you have to let him in to see the scene.” Sherlock looked down his nose at the man in question as he paced outside the small London home. The sneer turned to pure irritation when two other men showed up in strange eccentric clothing. “Well?”

“Two minutes.”

Sherlock didn’t even wait, and John had to hurry, but like always, the excitement reduced his limp to nil and he kept pace reasonably well given Sherlock’s much longer stride. Damn height.

“This is how you found it? This is _exactly_ how you found it?”

“No. There was a candy cane right there, on the pillow.”

“Why in god’s name did you move it? Idiots, the lot of you.” Sherlock exclaimed, leaning over and examining the pillow carefully.

“I could ask the same,” Harry asked, looking over the host of characters with a grimace. They would have worn more fitting clothes—not robes—if they’d known muggles would be about. The Obliviators would have a job to do later.

“Gathered up the evidence,” the portly man said as if it were entirely obvious.

Harry and Sherlock sighed at the same time, Ron and John looking on in faintly exasperated amusement. “Bring it here,” one, or both, commanded, and despite both appearing to be leaders, nothing had gone afoul. Yet.

The wind was swiftly changing though as Sherlock looked over Harry and his partner slowly. There was a gleam of knowledge in his eyes that made Harry nervous, and reminded him of Snape. It was creepy.

But, the man said nothing, so Harry relaxed for the moment. Perhaps it was the distraction of the candy cane. It appeared to be your ordinary run-of-the-mill candy cane, and Harry felt stumped. It wasn’t a portkey, or the portly muggle wouldn’t be standing in front of him any longer. And it wasn’t a prank. He couldn’t discern much else with the muggles in the way.

“Out!” Sherlock exclaimed, pushing John and the Detective Inspector out the door, shutting it behind them. “Now. Do your swishing and flicking. Don’t think I didn’t know. Squib family.”

Ron stared before nodding and jabbing Harry in the side to kick-start him. “Come on, Harry. Let’s just get it over with.”

Harry looked at the man, suspicious before nodding and withdrawing his wand, casting a series of detection spells that were increasingly complex. And increasingly disappointing by their lack of information gleaned.

“All I can tell is the obvious. There was a little girl here 20 hours ago. Now, there is a candy cane. Somebody’s sick idea of an apocalyptic joke. If it wasn’t, Trelawny would’ve called with another damn prophecy.”

“How do you know the Unspeakables don’t already have one for this, mate?”

Harry cursed, and again louder when Sherlock raised an eyebrow in smug amusement. “Looks like you still need me.” Then louder, “Watson. Come back in. Look over the room and tell me what you see.”

John Watson walked back in and sighed. This always felt like a pop quiz he was going to fail. “Bed is made. Toy’s are put away. There’s an empty spot on the shelf where a doll might be. And a whole lot of pink.” The last made him shudder as he had a flashback to pink entrails and innards cascading out of battered bodies on the war front. He was a doctor, not a soldier, but at war, he’d had to be both. It didn’t sit well with his oath.

“Very good, Watson!” And now John felt like a prized puppy. It was demoralizing, and he’d never felt so alive. “You see. Something is missing here. Watson has hit on it. There was a doll on that shelf. Probably a favorite doll, but judging by the packaging in the wastebin, it had to be replaced, and recently. Possibly as recently as yesterday. I’m sure if we get to the bottom of the mystery dolls, we can swap out our candy canes for the children. Though, why anyone would want them back is beyond me.”

Harry stared, and then looked at the packaging. “Um, Ron?” This was **_not_** good.

“Yes? Bugger.”

“Yeah.”

Sherlock tilted his head, and nodded. “Right. One of you knows the maker of these dolls, correct? Any reason ten of these dolls and children would disappear on one night—fucking New Year’s Eve?”

Harry shook his head. He didn’t say that it was only ten cases in London alone, and that he wasn’t sure how America had figured in. Family ties? He was too tired to do heavy thinking.

“Right. Keep me posted.” And it _killed_ Sherlock to say that. **Absolutely killed him.** _But, how would he explain wizards to Watson? The man would think he was crazy. Well, maybe just feel that the thought was confirmed._

# # #

“You don’t think George has gone nutters, do you?” Harry asked, concerned as they walked into an alley near the crime scene and apparated back to the entrance of Diagon Alley.

“You know. George was excited about that new product. Said he had a bulk order from someone in France.” Ron murmured, looking at Harry with a concerned expression that was just this side of hopeful. There was no way that his brother could have gone round the bend like that, Fred or no Fred.

“Right. Let’s get that name.”

# # #

“Malfoy. What are you doing here with all these children?” Harry snarled when he arrived at the billing location and found Draco with 25 muggle-born children surrounding him.

“Teaching them about Winter Solstice. What does it look like, Potter?” Draco sneered, irritated at having been interrupted. Little Maggie had been so cute, in awe of wizarding tradition. “Didn’t you get the notes they left? This was a way to pay everyone back for my father, and to share my knowledge. If I’d known you were going to come, Potter, I would have sent you an invitation too.”

Ron snorted. “You just want in his pants, ponce.”

Draco winced. That hit too close to home. There was a another reason why he was surrounded by children. Hard to have any of his own when he was gay. Though, if he met a wizard willing to chance it… But that was a lot to ask.

“No. There was no fucking note, Malfoy,” Harry cut in before things could get ugly. Too bad he already felt like making things ugly on his own since he’d had no rest in so fucking long and it was all Malfoy’s fault. “No fucking note anywhere. Just a fucking candy cane. What the hell, Malfoy? Their parents were scared shitless and I’ve been up for fifty some odd hours because of some fucking pranksters and _you_.” Harry snarled, wand pointed at Draco’s throat.

“Relax, Potter. That’s not the way to say you love me on New Years.” Draco smirked. “All that thinking about me though… I never knew. I’m flattered.”

Harry screamed and forgot about his wand, tackling Draco to the ground, pinning him down, glaring. “You prick!” Then, without thinking, he kissed him. “Fucking arse. Fucking arrogant prick who had to be generous for the damn solstice. Thought the world was gonna end. Crazy shit. Candy canes. Buggering hell.”

Ron chuckled and murmured, “At least this is something new in your life, mate. You were complaining earli—” Harry interrupted him with a silencing hex. “Take the children back, Ron. That’s it. Be a good lad.” 

After all, Harry was too busy kissing. And Draco was too busy being kissed to protest.

Nobody noticed when Ron stomped off muttering about how it wasn’t really the solstice today anyways and needing to determine what nefarious deeds Malfoy had been up to.

Fin.


End file.
